


Should Not Carrot All

by CravenWyvern



Series: Previously Punned [1]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Amnesia, Gen, Infinity Used Incorrectly, Kind of AU, Mentions of Maxwell, time distortion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-19 02:02:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9412901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CravenWyvern/pseuds/CravenWyvern
Summary: Wilson P. Higgsbury has been here for a very, very long time.Sometimes you forget things, and then you remember them later.





	

It was a very dark night.

New moons did that, vanished and made literally everything fade away, the circle of firelight becoming Wilsons whole world. The nights felt longer than usual, but maybe that was just him. Winter had passed too recently to be the cause.

His sleeplessness was getting worse, and he knew it. Wilson didn't want to attribute it to a case of insomnia just yet, because it was probably just stress, or maybe something he was eating or just the fact that the sounds at night got intensified and the whispers got clearer, almost human sometimes, but overwhelmed by the incomprehensible mutters that were impossibly deep and smooth and left him feeling like he was being appraised, a beast at the market to be sold, and that was very uncomfortable to both think about and feel, so he stopped listening. A part of him felt bad ignoring the almost human voice, but he couldn't do anything about that. And besides, what if it was just a trap, a projection created by…well, by someone, or something, that wanted to eat him? He couldn't risk that, not after how long he's been alive this time.

It wasn't that Wilson was keeping track, but he sort of was. Counting the seasons, the winters that dragged by, and he had a somewhat clear idea of how long he's actually been able to stay alive.

Five years. He's reached a very high mark, and goodness that made him feel quite proud and fuzzy inside, because how many deaths did it take for him to get here? A hundred? A thousand? A million? An impossible infinite sum? He didn't know, because counting his skeletons was not a healthy past time and really, dying was painful and why would he dwell on it? Yes, sometimes the thoughts snaked into his head, some sort of phantom aching wrapping itself around him and squeezing, and for a second, he could feel the bites and gouges in his flesh and the tears and breaks in his neck and the feeling of his brain oozing out of his crushed skull and the hole torn right through his chest and the frostbite and heatstroke and sometimes it was even his own two hands that cut the cord and leapt off the cliff and-

Well, that just made him not want to think about it even more. He had more will than that, to not just fall over and not get up again, Wilson was sure of that. He was a scientist, and a gentleman, and both had to have a certain amount of mental strength, didn't they?

But sometimes he had bad days, and that was normal, everyone had bad days, he was certain of it. The rain seemed to always dampen his mood more than anything else in this wretched world could, and even thought it had only been a brief shower, his morning, evening, and night had been made completely useless. Yes, he got things done, he had fed himself and his bird and a lot of his things have finally dried, but it had squashed his motivation flat. 

Why do anything while he was wet, Wilson hated being wet, his hair tangled into his face and his cloths stuck to him and his tools rusted or deteriorated and broke, and he just really, really hated the rain.

Some foreign sound out in the darkness startled him for a second, whipping his gaze away from the fires comforting dance to stare out in the disturbances general direction. His heart beat loudly in his chest as he listened hard, a stillness settling over him as he tried to decide if there was a danger or not. It dragged on and on, with Wilson finally deciding to think nothing of it for now. If it wanted to kill him, it'd have done so already. He was a person who got distracted very easily, something that has killed him before, but every creature on this world that wanted a taste of his blood was more of the brawn type than the brain. Clockwork creatures almost crossed the threshold of that, except once he saw a couple of knights bash themselves into a marble wall repeatedly as they tried to chase one rabbit, so ambush tactics might be beyond them.

Unless something new popped up, but that wasn't very plausible. The world wasn't much of something that changed or grew, more stagnant and rotten to the core than anything else. Under normal conditions, the environment would not be able to sustain itself whatsoever. Even someone like Wilson, a scientist yes, but more of the what if, mechanical and chemical research, not biology focused, could tell. This place would never drastically evolve, which Wilson actually appreciated. He never had to worry about finding something horrifyingly new that would want to kill or eat him, and he would always sort of know what to do in every environment he ever came across.

Guess the creator of the place wasn't very imaginative.

Not something very nice to say, Wilson decided, and thus made the decision that if he ever saw the man again he'd tell that to his face. If Wilson had the ability to create anything, a whole world even, he'd do much better than all these hairy bloodthirsty monsters. The automatons were nice touches, he had to appreciate that, but why make them so…murdery per say? A waste of gears and time.

Thinking on that, he would definitely have to voice his opinion on this lazy work at some point. Whatever power that man had, he was squandering it completely and utterly. If Wilson had that…well, he'll never know. Oh well.

Taking a moment to toss a log into his fire, keeping it steady and strong, Wilson rummaged through the backpack at his side. He hadn't found that many important things today, though the metal lever bit was curious and he'd be inspecting that in the daylight later. Other than that and some extra grass, he had stumbled upon someone's garden of carrots. 

Now, carrots were domesticated roots and really shouldn't be common in such a place like this world, but the garden was well maintained and Wilson had almost hoped somebody was still around, but the skeleton collapsed behind the tall grass got rid of that idea. There had been something with it, a big black blade that seemed to wither about when he got too close and it had an aura of whispers to it, so he had instead just taken all of the carrots, leaving the weapon behind. Who knew how that person had died, and that sword…

Well, now he had a bag full of carrots. Almost 20 of them in fact, all fresh, intact, and healthy looking. They wouldn't be much if he had been hungry and they were unusually flavorless, but his bird liked them enough and they went semi okay with eggs.

Taking one of the vegetables and giving it a cursory look, Wilson decided to eat it raw this time. Would it taste better, in a more organic state?

…No, it didn’t. Flavorless and crunchy, but it was something to take his mind off of his stomach. He had to ration these out, not eat them all in one go. That'd be inviting a stomach ache and he wouldn't have anything later when he'd really need it.

At least it didn’t taste gross, per say. Better than spider flesh, and easier to eat too. Cracking overgrown bug legs apart to get a few slips of meat really wasn't something he enjoyed doing, even if it sometimes reminded him of eating crab.

That thought started him for a second, chewing his carrot slowly. Crab, crab, crab, he knew what crab was. Almost like a bug of the ocean and Wilson hadn't had it in a long, long time, way before this world, and way before he had moved into that little house in the woods.

Oh yes, he had lived in a house once, hadn't he? He should feel more sure about it, but he remembered that he had a bed and a fireplace and a table and a few chairs and a radio-

Ah, that’s what got him then! Wilson stopped himself from smacking his head at the last second, realizing that the carrot would poke him in the face if he did that without thinking. How in the world did he forget about that radio? That was the cause of this whole thing, the whole reason he was here.

And to think, only this morning he had fully believed that he lived here and only here! What an absurd thought! To believe wholeheartedly that this was his home and birthplace! He hadn't even questioned how he had gotten here!

It was…disturbing, for lack of a better word. He shouldn't be forgetting such important things so easily; didn't he want to get back there someday?

After a moment of mulling over the thought, Wilson decided that yes, he would. One of the chairs there had been especially comfortable, he was sure, and having a bed of all things, something that wouldn't wear out so soon...

And the radio. It had been a nice little thing, hadn't it, before it become possessed. Or something like that, anyway, because radios do not normally start to talk to their owners out of the blue.

He had…well, he must have been doing something important at the time, because he couldn't remember it now, but he did remember feeling disappointed. That must mean he had hit a block of some sort, couldn't figure out a solution to an equation for a moment, so of course he'd feel down because of that. And…and the radio had spoken up out of nowhere.

The person on the other side, the speaker, had startled him quite badly, Wilson remembered that. The realization he was being directly spoken to had really spooked him at the time, since he usually only got static or the rare musically inclined channel to play on it. Having a conversation with someone over such a distance was very awe inspiring.

And that didn’t even touch upon what that little radio had offered to give him! Knowledge, ideas, motivation and inspiration, a package that had almost been sent directly to his brain the instant he had said yes. It had been such an event, and he could almost feel it again, a wave of emotions as he had realized exactly what had been given to him.

It almost brought tears to his eyes just thinking about it.

Finishing up his carrot and wiping his hands on his trousers, Wilson stared into the fire and sifted through his memories. Though he knew he was missing a few things, what he wanted to focus on was quite clear and sharply remembered.

Building the machine had been quite the challenge, and very exciting! It had taken a long time, to cannibalize his own house for parts and then having to put those parts in the correct order. He had been so occupied during that time that most days he forgot to eat or sleep, very rarely taking breaks.

And…oh, he remembered. It had gotten to a point where he had started to make mistakes, set back his workload and make it harder for himself, just because he didn’t want to rest. His house had been a mess, he had been a mess, and somehow, the person on the other side of the radio noticed. They had not been very pleased about it, Wilson remembered having to actually turn down the volume level to make it stop becoming so piercingly loud. And the knowledge that he could just…turn it off had been very helpful for awhile. Yes, he still didn't take care of himself, but the silence had been a relief and he had continued on, ignoring everything but his work.

It hadn't mattered if he had been hungry, it hadn't mattered if he had been dead tired, it hadn't mattered that he had started seeing black things slink about on the ceiling or how his vision blinked out sometimes or how he sometimes fell over or tripped over nothing or how the world had distorted and twisted to the point that he had started to run into walls, that his body had started to be the bane of his existence because he was so excited, so enthralled with what he knew and what he had been working on and it had started to deteriorate around him-

Thinking back, that had not been such a good idea. The memories were a little twisted up, because even now he could feel that drawn feeling about the machine, but he remembered the passing out part. He sometimes experienced it here, though nowadays he actually tried to take care of himself.

And, well…he must have gotten real bad at some point. He remembered…

He remembered having such a hard time getting up off the ground again. Wobbling there for a second, brain feeling scrambled and a migraine pounding behind his eyes, trembling and aching all over. And…

And the radio turned on again. He hadn't touched it, hadn't even been close to the table that faced him on the other side of the room. The audible click of it, inside his messy, decrepit house, ringing in his ears.

The voice had been very, very quiet. 

Wilson remembered…after a moment, he threw another log into the fire and grinded his teeth together, trying to- aha!

He hadn't spoke at all, just let whoever was on the other side say his piece. And mostly, that piece sounded concerned. Maybe angry and a tad frustrated, but in his muddled state he heard genuine concern, from a stranger no less.

He had felt at the time that it wasn’t needed, that he'd be fine and would finish the machine soon enough, just let him keep going-

But he didn’t have the strength for it, not enough to open his mouth and speak, to get words through his sore, dehydrated throat and get his own point across.

…He had been lucky. Very, very lucky.

The radio demanded that he go to town, get supplies, do something to stay alive for the love of God-

And the walk out of the house, out of the woods had been hell, and-

And-

Wilson frowned, blinking in confusion for a moment. He couldn't remember what happened after that. There was just a blank emptiness there, and then…

He remembered returning home, after some sort of period of absence, because the path looked worse off than usual and his house…

Well, it wasn’t too bad, thinking about it know. He remembered feeling better about things, though…there was something off. He had felt uncomfortable, back in that house, paranoid and uneasy. The sounds and creaks had startled him, made him jittery, and he had been very skittish. And in fact, he had avoided the machine entirely!

Now why would he have done that? Hadn't he been obsessing over it to the point where he had forgotten to take care of himself?

These memories really didn’t add up, did they? Wilson felt uneasy, and he kept his eyes glued to the fire. The hair on the back of his neck rose and he could almost feel something watching him. What, he didn’t know, but he really didn't want to turn around and see eyes in the darkness. If it wanted to kill him, it'd have done so already.

He turned his attention inwards once more, to distract himself from the shadows outside of his fire. Nothing to worry about out here.

So…so he had avoided the massive structure in the attic of his house. He remembered…he remembered trying to clean up, trying to make the place hospitable again, and it had worked for awhile. He could sit easy and comfortably, had even been able to relax sometimes in front of the fire, and…

Hadn't the radio been on the whole time? He was sure he hadn't turned it off, or at least these memories didn't seem to disapprove the idea, and it seemed maybe his past self had realized that at some point as well. 

Wilson remembered taking the machine in his hands and having a thorough look at it, twisting it around and trying to pry its backing off.

And then it had talked again. Or, more likely, the person on the other side somehow realized what he was trying to do.

Wilson scratched his chin in thought, the scruff of his slowly growing beard distracting him for a moment. He'd have to shave soon; summer could get really hot and having anything increasing his body heat was not good.

The memories were not really that detailed; he couldn't remember what the radio had said to him. He might have been surprised enough to drop the thing, though he had picked it back up after it had started to rise in volume. The gist of it must have been enough to get him active again; Wilson remembered climbing up the stairwell and inspecting the machine once more, a little shaky but very excited. That time around he must have actually taken care of himself, the radio almost always close by and never turned off, his house not in too much disarray and he did remember sleeping, once or twice at least.

Maybe not in the bed, but his memories of waking from the worktable didn't seem all that bad. Though the radio hadn't liked that at all.

Now that he thought about it, the radio hadn't liked a lot of things. While Wilson couldn't remember specific wording, he did remember the tone of voice. When one was alone for so long, with very little company but their own, someone else's presence was usually magnified, right? He remembered trying to keep around the machine as much as possible, which was pretty easy since its cord was usually unplugged and the person on the other side never really noticed. 

His memories were rather specific sometimes, and it seemed to be on the most mundane of things. 

He remembered having to sketch out a few more blueprints, because his mind had gotten so occupied with construction that he had started to forget the little things. Oh, he wouldn’t ever forget the instructions, but it seemed to come and go and when he needed it most, he'd be completely blank. The prints helped remind him, even if he didn't write the whole thing out he could trigger the information just by looking the paper over.

The radio hadn't liked that at all. If he remembered right, it wanted him to burn the sketches immediately. Why, it never said, but he remembered the tone it took whenever he was looking them over. It made him feel…

Very, very small and stupid, Wilson decided. Like a gnat, annoying and useless and buzzing around erratically in the worst of ways.

He hadn't burned the sketches. Instead he had…

Oh, he remembered! He had gotten into a fight with the machine! Shouted a lot of improper words, gotten angry and frustrated, almost dashed the thing against the wall and gotten the whole mess over with. But he held his hand and temper in check, had instead silently placed the radio down and left the room for awhile.

If only he had destroyed the radio. Maybe he wouldn't be here today if he had just let his emotions take charge for a second or so.

After that, he wasn’t much on speaking terms with the person on the other side. He did what they said, worked on the machine and continued building and building and building, hiding the sketches away because fighting over it wasted his time and he wanted to work, not yell at the voice on the radio all day.

How Wilson had wished to box the person behind the machine in the face then. Give him something to think about instead of how slow Wilson was or how tired Wilson was or how he kept messing up or how he had nearly took his hand off from a malfunctioning gear filled section, why wasn't he paying attention, he was going to get hurt and then where would they be?

…That must have started getting irritating, because Wilson remembered locking the radio up in a cabinet at one point, telling it that he didn’t want to hear anything from it for awhile. He had actually been able to get something done before it all went wrong again.

The machine had tried to turn on at some point, whether by him accidently hitting the switch or just a fluke of nature and electricity, but it had roughed him up pretty bad and practically destroyed half of it, as well as taking a huge hole out of the side of his house. All that work, wasted because of one little mistake.

He had avoided telling the radio for awhile, but it had started to raise its volume again somehow and eventually that stupid voice and its insistent nagging set him off. Wilson had a fit, or at least it seemed like he did. He remembered rushing around, just shouting his head off at the stupid thing about its stupid machine that was just so stupidly faulty, raging at it and getting so worked up because he didn’t have enough supplies to fix it up again, didn't have the physical and mental energy anymore to take care of the problem, didn't have enough brain power to make it work because it was escaping him again, slipping out and the information was there, he could feel it in his head, but he just couldn't access it-

Wilson took a moment to just breathe. These thoughts, these memories, they went down a little hard. It was bizarre, unraveling these pieces and yet knowing them already. And even now, he could still feel that knowledge, about the workings of the machine. It felt blurred, as if half forgotten, but the steps were still there, lurking around in his head.

After his…breakdown, the radio had been surprisingly patient. Explained that this went there, that that went over there and that piece had to be twisted just right; overall, Wilson knew what to do, but having someone tell him the instructions piece by piece really helped. The accident didn’t leave a lasting effect on the machine, but…that couldn’t be said about his past self.

Wilson tried to remember for a moment, because the clarity of the memory was obscure and he couldn’t exactly picture what had actually occurred to him after the explosion. Something painful, perhaps? It sent a shiver up his spine, some vague hint of shock and pain, but he couldn’t remember anything else. It probably wasn’t too important...

Well, afterwards the machine really started to pull together. With actual help from the radio, not just vague comments and then leaving him to his own devices, Wilson remembered actually getting things done at a steady pace. 

And then…had there been more complications? Wilson scratched his head, zoning out as the fire crackled contently. It shouldn't be such a surprise, since it was quite the complicated piece of machinery with bits and pieces that he himself didn’t understand, but from what he could remember of the blueprints it shouldn’t have taken such a long time coming together. Especially with the help of the person on the other side of the radio.

Except…it hadn't been the machines fault for the time, had it? The memories were obscure now, faint impressions even though these should be closer to his time right now. The moment before he came here, before he met for a brief moment the person on the radio, before he had tried to figure out how to survive and before he had died for the first time. Wilson should be able to remember that, remember pushing a button or flipping a switch, right?

But he didn’t. And, no matter how much he tried to, Wilson for the life of him couldn’t remember anything pertaining to right before appearing here. This was a bad thing, wasn’t it, something to be concerned about…

But how long ago was that now? He could keep track of how many years he's stayed alive, but he couldn’t keep track of how many times he's died, how much time he's lived each time before passing away, whether violently or softly. That wasn’t exactly something that he could do anyway, not without losing his mind. And he'd rather not go down that road.

With how his memory was and how confused he got sometimes, he'd probably already lost it somewhere. And then probably found it again, at least for this point in time. Infinity, time distortion, and somewhat immortality really messed with ones head, didn’t it?

A snap from the fire startled him, making him realize how low it had gotten. Standing up and stretching, easing out a tense breath, Wilson gathered up a rather large and thick log, dumping it into the fire and sending up a spray of embers. After a few moments of stomping them out and cursing his carelessness, Wilson looked up at the sky.

The cloud cover was gone, an opening up into a void of darkness. The new moon made it darker than normal, and the starless void was a weight, something full of heavy pressure that bore down onto his shoulders. Wilson didn’t appreciate it that much, simply because he was used to actually seeing stars and planets up there, not nothing at all. Was it lack of imagination once more, or possibly to instill a feeling of hopelessness onto those who look up?

Either way, the feeling of despair was thick.

The hour was late, very late, but the time cycles of this world were somewhat skewed and the night probably had more time to it. Wobbling for a second, his sense of balance tripping over itself, Wilson took a deep breath of the chill night air and decided to call it a night. There were things he had to do tomorrow, important things, like examine the metal lever he had found earlier on, so sleeping was what he should be doing.

He knew he was probably more likely going to stare up at the ceiling of his tent than anything else, sleep alluding him once more, but resting his body in a somewhat safe and comfortable area would be nice. And maybe he'd get lucky and actually get some shut eye.

Either way, he wasn’t going to stay up any longer. The time to reflect on the past was over, for now.


End file.
